To know the heart of the holiday
Is to know snow
And cold
As where it is dark
The worst is yet to come
Around fires
The bold sit
Drinking beer made in summer
The taste of wheat and citrus
Upon their tongues
Warming them
They gather
As they always have
Little was known of
The man behind the rock
In the cave
In the early times
Yet
No matter who the day
Was named for
People always gathered
When the shadows grew long
The cold is the thing
The dark is the thing
The reminder that summer
Is a blessing or aberration
And even winter
A warm exception to the rule
In late December
We acknowledge
How precarious
This all is
Gene G. McLaughlin 2012
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